The Death of a Rose
by Fauller
Summary: Growing up Morgana had a bad family life. She is taken away from her home and raised in a cult and trained to be a priestess. This is her life.


I don't own any thing DnD related, at least not the class or pantheons ect.

Let's get going with one of my favorite characters to play… a death cultist priestess of Nerull the god of death. These are the tales of Morgana Rosethore. Caution: I don't hold back on graphic censorship of any kind. If you don't like vivid descriptions of human sacrifice or murders then please don't read.

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"Put your dress back on whore and get your arss down to the dining room with yer mother" the man pulled his pants back on and left the room. It was the third time this week that her father had done this to her. At least this time he was gentle about it. No! She couldn't think like that. That was the way that her mother thought and that was why he was so mean to her. She wasn't going to think like a victim.

"Miss Morgana, here are a fresh change of close for you change into" Dealith had discontinued her statue act as soon as Mr. Rosethorn left. It was a servants plays to neither be seen nor heard unless requested. It was amazing how the whole house hold and all the house help knew about Mr. Rosethorn's past time activities and yet every one of them was powerless to stop him. Morgana could still feel him sleek between her legs. It disgusted her. The man was a demon. Morgana changed but that did nothing to make her feel clean. Dealith left the room to go were ever it was that the help went. She didn't know or care. She needed to hurry down to the dining room before her father came looking for her again. She got away without any physical injuries this time but if he made him angry he might have his way with her a second time to night, and he might not be so gentle this time.

As she entered the dining room, a pit formed in her throat. Whenever he was there, it was there. He stood a stout six feet tall. His close established him as the head of the estate. Silks and well tailored to him. She prayed and prayed every night to be saved from this pervert that called himself her father. She had run away once but he had the several surfs find her. She was punished sivierly for that. The scars on her back rubbed numbly against the back of her chair. If only the numbness she felt on her back could be felt all over…

"Where is your mother?" His voice was a dark storm, low and always growling. His words hung in the air like rank humidity.  
"I don't know father." She hadn't noticed till he mentioned it. It wasn't like her mother to not come to diner.

"I want you to finish your supper and the get your arss up to your room. I'll be up to tuck you in later." Mr. Rosethorn got up and left the room. One of the servents came and picked up his dishes.

"I pray your mother be found and in good health, young mistress." the servents face was familar but morgana didn't know his name. He was tall, darkskined and thin as a scare crow. He was one of the new batch that her father had hired. Several of the new help seemed slightly off.

"And too whom do you pray?" His words stung her. The idea that this fool still prayed. How many times did she lay in bed praying to be taken away from here, to be saved. Her prayrs still went unheard. "To Palor? To Heironeus? I pray that she is gone."

"It is never unwise to pray too any god young mistress, that will listen." He picked up her dishes when she was finished. The rest of her meal was finished in silence. Pictures of the Rosethorn family lined the walls. Her room was empty exept for a canopy bed against the far wall, and a vanity and wardrobe along the left wall. Morgana walked over to the window worried. Her mother wasn't likely to have just run off... at lest not with out her. She didn't know why but she thought of the tall black servent.

"I pray that your safe mother and I pray that some one would save me..." The words sounded more pathetic spoken than they did in her head. As she sat down on her bed she heard the click of the door lock. Sometimes the servents would lock her in the room on her fathers orders. This didn't bother her. It ment that she would get to be by her self for a while. The stress of being raped and the feeling of helplessness left her drained. She didn't intend it but she lied down and feel asleep on the bed.


End file.
